


don't you hear that heartbeat comin' your way?

by katebishoop



Series: tumblr prompts [14]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 20:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6486712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katebishoop/pseuds/katebishoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is not having a good time at Octavia and Raven's choice of venue for their girl's night out. She leaves, and in her drunken state, unintentionally goes to the place she really wants to be: Bellamy's apartment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't you hear that heartbeat comin' your way?

**Author's Note:**

> **anonymous asked:** Clarke, Octavia, and Raven go to Painting With A Twist and Clarke is basically complaining "why am I here????" So she ends up doing more drinking then painting. She gets kinda wasted, not really in her right mind, and goes sees Bellamy afterward. You can determine what happens after that. Modern au

“You guys can’t be serious.” Clarke’s jaw drops when she sees the building they’ve pulled up in front of.

“Oh, come on it’ll be fun.” Octavia’s practically bouncing with excitement in the shotgun seat. “Besides, I’ve getting bored of all the clubs in this city. We need to mix it up a little.”

“What’s the real reason?”

Raven shrugs. “There was a Groupon.” 

When Raven and Octavia had suggested a girl’s night out, this was not what Clarke had in mind. But no, here they were, at Painting With a Twist.

The place where ‘hip’ adults could learn how to paint, but also drink! Wow. Like Clarke didn’t do that evernight anyway? And in the comfort of her apartment, she didn’t even have to wear pants.

But they really did need a girls night out, they hadn’t had one in a while. Raven was still in the honeymoon phase with Wells, and Octavia was busy preparing to move into a new place with Lincoln. And Clarke was pretty busy too: wild nights alone, getting drunk, pining over Bellamy, and painting in her underwear.

It’s every bit of a nightmare as Clarke expects. All the other patrons are struggling couples on dates. The instructor is way too peppy, but in a way that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, like she’s dying inside. Clarke feels her pain. 

They’re learning how to paint waterlilies. They’re given only  _ six _ colors to work with. They move at a painstakingly slow pace. The wine is cheap, probably all five cent bottles from Bevmo.

But hey, the alcohol's unlimited, and Clarke’s taking full advantage of that.

“Hey!” Octavia says as Clarke steals her glass of wine and downs it. Her eyes flicker to Clarke’s canvas then. “And - Clarke, you’re not even _trying_. We’re supposed to be painting _lilies_.”

Clarke honestly tried at first. She did the first three steps, and got bored. So she went wth a more abstract take: wild brush strokes, splatter, smearing colors. It wasn’t of anything but it was.

And she didn’t need to be here to do that.

“I think I’m going take off.” Clarke says, wobbling a little as she stands up. 

“Dude, you're sloshed,” Raven says. Her canvas is follow the instructions, but she’s also adding robots. Clarke appreciates that. “You can’t possibly-”

“I’ll get an Uber, okay?” Clarke’s already pulling out her phone. “Really, I’m fine. This just isn’t my thing. We’ll do something else next time. Hog wrestle. Skydive, maybe.”

When she does get back to her apartment, the alcohol has definitely set in. Getting up the stairs is a miracle - then she realizes she could have just taken the elevator. She fumbles with her keys - she could have sworn the one with the blue nail polish on it was her’s, but it’s the purple one that opens the door. 

She slams the door shut behind her and immediately unbuttons her jeans and works to get out of them. She nearly falls over, but she braces herself on the little end table - wait, she doesn’t have a table there-?

“Clarke?” Her head snaps around, it’s still dark she can’t see, who the  _ fuck is in her apartment _ \- “What are you doing here?”

Wait. Clarke knows that voice.

“Bellamy?” It’s definitely him. She knows the outline of him, she’s drawn it - and dreamed of it - millions of times: broad shoulders, messy curls, strong arms, deep V of his hips… “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, this is my apartment?” He turns the light on then, and Clarke recoils. It’s too bright why the fuck is everything so god damn bright. “Why… why aren’t you wearing pants?”

“Why are  _ you _ wearing pants?” It’s all she can really say. She’s already fucked up because she’s drunk, and the light, but him in low hanging gray sweats and a threadbare white t-shirt….that would fuck her up even if she was sober.

Bellamy shakes his head, fond and exasperated. “Clarke-”

His phone rings from in the kitchen. It’s Octavia she knows, because Nicki Minaj’s  _ Super Bass _ starts blaring.

She follows him into the kitchen, glaring at his ass because, well. Clarke’s not good at crushes, and Bellamy looks nearly as disheveled as she does but he still looks good. That should be illegal.

“O-  _ Octavia _ , slow down, Clarke’s not dead.” Bellamy cuts in, “She’s here with… yes here… she thought she was at her place, used her spare key - scared the shit out of me…. O, she’s out of it… _ No,  _ Octavia...”

Clarke rifles through his fridge There’s nothing in there but string cheese and half empty take out containers. Then she remembers - smacking her forehead with her palm and instantly regretting it - he keeps all his alcohol in the freezer, buried behind all bags of frozen vegetables that he’s never going to eat.

“...I’m tired -  _ yes,  _ I know it’s only elev- nevermind O, you can yell at me about my lack social life later. I’m going to give her some aspirin and water… I’ll sleep on the couch. You can pick her up in the morning. Octavia, O- You’re not even listening anymore. I’m going to hang up now.”

Bellamy sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Here let me get you some-” He turns around to face her, and immediately rushes over. “Clarke,  _ no. _ ” He takes the shot out of her hand just as she’s about to down it, and it sloshes down her chin and onto her shirt.

_ “Bellamy _ ,” Clarke whines. “I want to have fun.”

“You’ve had enough, Clarke.”

“No - I’ve had  _ no _ fun.” Clarke pouts, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s pretty sure his eyes flicker down for a second, but. “Octavia and Raven took me to this stupid place that normally stupid couples go to.” And it made Clarke feel even more stupidly single. 

And stupidly in love, if her subconscious led her into Bellamy’s apartment.

“Like you said, it’s only eleven!”

“I was just about to fall asleep,” Bellamy says, putting the shot glass away.“I-”

“Wait -  _ why _ ?” Clarke takes a step closer to him. A little too close - because she can feel his breath on her face, and his hands at her sides bump into her thighs, and the edge of her underwear. She doesn’t know if she should be grateful or annoyed that she forwent lace in favor of plain cotton tonight. “It’s a Friday - you’re always out on Friday nights.”

It’s Bellamy’s turn to pout now - and fuck, she could kiss him, but she’s drunk, and she knows what he’d say. That’s why it’s called _unrequited_ love, anyway. “Yeah we’ll you weren’t- I mean, you _and_ O _and_ Raven were doing your own thing-”

“So let’s do our own thing!” Clarke flings her arms up, and sort of falls on him for support. She’s a mess. Bellamy likes messes. She’s got a vague plan going on here, to get him to see her as something other than a little sister. “Bell,  _ please _ . We can watch one of your nerd movies and drink at the historical inaccuracies.”

Bellamy’s watching her carefully - his eyes searching her face, trying to gauge if it’s Clarke or the booze talking. But either way - hanging out with him is always what she rather be doing. She’s still leaning on him, chest to chest. One of his hands is planted on the counter behind him for support; the other is at the small of her back. His thumb is stroking the exposed skin there, his finger stilling when it brushes over the waistband of her underwear.

“You may be old, but the night’s still young,” Clarke says, and Bellamy bursts out laughing.

“ _ Fine _ .” Bellamy pushes off the counter, steadying her. “You owe me.”

“This is a win-win situation, though.”

Bellamy chuckles again, almost in disbelief: that she’s here, that he just agreed to this. “I gotta get something from my room. Go wait on the couch.”

She doesn’t listen though, instead grabbing the vodka bottle and following him into his room, flopping down on his bed. It smells like him. It’s nice. “Your couch is shit.”

Bellamy sighs, mumbling something under his breath. “Here-” he tosses her a pair of gym shorts at her. “Put those on, at least.”

“Pants are for fascists.”

“Then fascism is the fee for my presence tonight, I’m afraid.”

“You’re the worst.”

Bellamy just huffs, bringing out his laptop and lying down next to her. She snuggles closer to him, and he lifts his arm so she can fit into his side. He lays his cheek down onto her hair, his hand at her waist. They’re quiet, as his computer boots up. He’s opening up Netflix when she says:

“You’re my favorite, you know that right?” Clarke says. Her voice comes out smaller than she expected. She’s never been a crying drunk, but somehow she’s just so overwhelmed by him.

Bellamy tenses slightly, and then tilts his head so he can press his lips to it, soft and gentle. She thinks he’s going to say something, but he just puts on _ The Last Legion  _ and settles more onto the bed.

It’s about four minutes into the movie when his composure breaks, and he starts heckling the screen. The costumes, customs, dialogues - they’re all wrong.

She’s having such a good time that she forgets this is supposed to be a drinking game. She never did need any alcohol to enjoy her time with Bellamy. His voice is soothing, warm like a blanket, and it’s barely halfway through the movie that she feels her eyes start to droop.

Bellamy sighs against her, shifting slightly to toss the blanket over her. He turns the volume down low, fading cheers in the background.

She doesn’t feel drunk at all anymore. The fuzziness faded, and know there’s just the taste of gasoline in her mouth.

“I’m wide awake now, and you’re asleep,” Bellamy whispers to himself.

He runs his fingers through her hair, and she tries to keep her body still. “You show up here like something out of a  _ fucking _ dream…” Clarke wonders if  _ she’s _ dreaming, but the feel of him around her… that’s never been something she’s been able to recreate. “One day, I’m going to work up the courage to tell you…” 

Bellamy sighs heavily, and then shifts on the bed. He’s getting up, carefully sliding out from under her, and Clarke wills her body to shake off the drowsiness and move.

“Stay.” She grasps onto his hand, pulling him back down onto the bed.

“Clarke?”

She sits up more, back on her elbows, and opens her eyes. He looks fuzzy, in the white light coming off the laptop screen. She feels like the world is on pause, like this moment is separate from all the rest. That it’s just her and Bellamy, the way it should be.

“Tell me what?” She asks, before the spell breaks. He takes a sharp intake of breath, his eyes widening.

“Clarke.” Bellamy shakes his head. “Go back to sleep.”

“No-  _ No, _ Bellamy,” Clarke’s more alert now, and she’s not letting whatever this is slip through her fingers. “What do you want to tell me?”

Bellamy looks at her strangely, and then a little laughter escapes his lips, like he can’t believe what's going on.

“That you’re my favorite too,” he says, not looking at her. He’s staring intently at the laptop screen, the light reflecting in his eyes, making them look all white. “That I only go out now to the bar if you’re there. That I want you to be here all the time. That I- no, you’re drunk. You won’t remember this in the morning so what’s the-”

Clarke places her hand on his cheek and turns him to look at her. His pupils are blown, and before she can second guess herself, she leans up and kisses him. It's deep but quick, because she wants more but she’s afraid of what his reaction will be.

“I’m not drunk anymore,” Clarke says, breathing heavily. Her thumb rubs circles onto his cheek, her other hand running up his chest, fingers like brushstrokes. “So tell me.”

Bellamy’s eyes don’t ever leave hers. He swallows: “I’m in love you.”

And then she’s kissing him again, and he’s responding with just as much force. His lips are dry and chapped and they feel  _ good _ . Kissing him is like free falling - and boy, is she falling and falling and  _ falling _ . One of his hands weaves itself into her hair, the other on her hip as he guides her down under him on the bed. He closes the laptop with his foot and pushes it out of the way.

_ “Clarke _ -” he tries to say, but she catches his lips again. He places a hand on her shoulder so he can pull back. Their foreheads touching, their eyes locked. His voice is desperate. “Clarke, say  _ something _ .”

“I’m in love with you,” it comes out giddy, like a laugh. She can’t believe - that all this time he was in the same boat as her. That is was that simple, but they were both to blind to see it. Looking at the other while the other was looking at the ground. “God, Bellamy, I’m in love with you and I’ve-”

Bellamy surges his lips down to hers again. He's smiling against her mouth, so is she, because they both just can't fucking help it. They're idoits, but they're each other's idoits.

"Bellamy-" Clarke grings her thigh up, desperate for friction, but Bellamy pushes her leg away from him.

"You're tired," Bellamy says, pressing a kissing to her jaw, "and I'm not going anywhere-" a kiss to her neck "-we have all the time in the world-" to her collarbone "-so let's do this when were both ready-" to her shoulder, and his lips linger there.

"I've _been_ ready," Clarke says, but it comes out drowsy, followed by a yawn.

Bellamy chuckles slightly and slides off her, and pulls her to his chest, throwing the blanket over them. His chest beneath her head feels as good as ever, but knowing it isn't _platonic_ or whatever is everything.

He presses a kiss to her hair: "Goodnight."

She's asleep before she can form a response.

* * *

"OH MY GOD I _KNEW_ IT."

Clarke's eyes fly open and she jerks up. Her head hits Bellamy's as he does the same.

" _Octavia?_ "Bellamy rubs his head. "What the _fuck_ are you doing?"

Octavia is grinning at them like a manicac at the foot of the bed, typing on hr phone faster than a super computer. " _You_ said I should come by to pick Clarke up. I can't believe this, I finally don't have to deal with either of your moping anymore."

Clarke felt her face redden. She had never told Octavia about her thing for Bellamy. _Was she that obvious?_

"Wait till I tell Raven!" Octavia says as she darts from the room, "I don't even care that I lost the bet. I'm just glad to be free!" Clarke hears the front door slam shut behind her.

Appartently, it was obvious to everyone but them. Of course.

Bellamy sighs heavily and flops back down on the bed. "I hate our friends."

Clarke's about to retort, but then her eyes go down to where his shirt has rucked up, exposing his abs and a the start of his happy trail, and her jaw go slack.

She swings her leg over him, sliding onto his lap. She gives him a smirk as his eyes go wide. "I think we have unfinished business."

Bellamy grins up at her, his hand coming up to pull her head down so he can kiss her. He flips them over in an instant, knocking the breath right out of her. "That we do."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Some fluff before another heartwrenching episode tonight!
> 
> also: shameless self-promo, y'all should go check out my [high school musical 3 au](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6454000) (/^▽^)/
> 
> prompts are open over on [tumblr](http://bellakeyblake.tumblr.com)!


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